“Jolie, that’s amazing. Wait…Did you make the marble slab for my desk?”
“Yeah.” Jolie smiled. “That was actually one of my first attempts at marble. Now, of course I do it often.”
“Does work know?”
“Nah, they still buy all the marble stone. I just manipulate the pattern on the stone sometimes to make it fit what I’m looking for. I don’t want them to know about my gift. I don’t think they’re magical, and besides I’d be putting their supplier out of business.”
“I wonder if Evangeline has magic,” Ophelia wondered.
“Same. I wondered if you both did for so long, and Mom and Dad. But I figured we would all find out about each other eventually when the time was right.”
“It’s sad to me that magical people have to keep all of their gifts a secret,” mused Ophelia.
“Yeah, but the alternative is being thought of as crazy.” Jolie sighed. “New Orleans is a good place to be, though. I’ve slowly become more connected to other magical people here. There’s a community of sorts. It’s how I knew Avery before you moved here.”
“Do you —” Ophelia paused, considering her words “— know about Jade?”
Jo shook her head. “I’m guessing she has magic?”
“I’ll let her tell you. Not my story to tell.”
Jolie swirled her glass. The ice cubes clinked together in that telltale sign of an empty drink. “How about you make me another one of these, and we come up with a plan for putting this ass wipe in his place?”
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
That Saturday night after hours of scheming, Ophelia texted Mateo.
Ophelia: Hey. Sorry about last night. I think I was just in shock about the statue. I’ve been thinking about it more. I do want to see it, and I’m honestly flattered that you even considered me a muse. Wanna meet up tomorrow at your studio?
Mateo: I’m so glad you texted. Of course. You’re my muse, wild one. I’m shocked you didn’t think you were. I just feel like we have this undeniable connection, ya know?
Mateo sent her an address for a warehouse studio out past the Lower Ninth Ward in Arabi, close to a thirty-minute drive from her house. They planned to meet up at five in the afternoon on Sunday. Ophelia barely slept that night, even though she and Jolie had pumped their bloodstreams with gin. Jolie slept over and snored the entire night, clearly impervious to nerves. They were going to take down a mass manipulator, an exploiter of women’s bodies and literal souls. How could Jolie sleep?
The day passed slowly as Ophelia tried to occupy herself with laundry, grocery shopping, running, anything to keep herself moving and her mind off of their scheme. Thankfully, the afternoon came and Ophelia readied herself in a slinky halter top, tight hip-hugging jeans, and strappy sandals. This would be a performance, and her outfit was her costume. Her role, to pretend like she was still interested in him.Gag.
Ophelia and Jolie drove together to the warehouse. Once they crossed over the Claiborne Avenue basin, Ophelia could feel the decline in the earth as the ground beneath them leveled with the sea. She couldn’t see the Mississippi from the road, but she knew if she could, it would be even with the pavement, perhaps even higher. No one talked much about the Lower Ninth except in relation to Hurricane Katrina. Decades later and the neighborhood still felt empty, vacant plots of land with overgrown grass sat stagnant where family homes once stood. The city did the neighborhood dirty.
They turned into Arabi where warehouses and homes lined the pot-holed streets. Ophelia parked in front of a gray, nondescript warehouse. Ophelia and Jolie exchanged glances. They didn’t have to say anything. The place felt off immediately. The sun was about to set, nightfall wasn’t far off.
“Should we do this?” asked Ophelia. “It’s going to get dark soon.”
“Babe, this is your decision. Only you can decide if you want to confront him.”
Ophelia inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “I need to do this. I need to see this through.”
Jolie nodded. “I’ll wait for your call.”
Ophelia got out of the car and walked to the side of the warehouse, and knocked on two large metal doors. “Just a minute,” she heard Mateo yell through the door. The lock started to turn, and the door creaked open.
“My wild one,” he greeted her smoothly with a grin. “So glad you came.” He was just as he had always been, so beautiful, and his face seemed so earnest. It was hard to imagine that he wasevil. Mateo opened the door and gestured for her to walk inside. As soon as the door fully opened, that same rank smell consumed her. It was stronger than it had ever been, and she started coughing.
“Oh, sorry about that. It’s the plaster I use. It can cause some people to cough. You’ll get used to it. Let me get you some water.”
The door slammed behind her. She was still coughing, trying to get her bearings. She didn’t know if she could do this. The smell almost got her last time. What if it did again? Ophelia started to tell him that she needed to step outside, and then she saw it.
An exact replica of Ophelia stood in the middle of his studio, fluorescent lights shining on the milky white stone. Her statue’s head was turned, and the lifelike hair fell in front of her face. She looked like she had whipped her head away in disgust. Her arms were stiff at her side, palms relaxed. Her entire front was bare, and it looked like she wanted to run from the viewer’s unwanted stare.
Mateo walked up beside her and handed her a glass of water. “What do you think?”
